


Red

by red (skyewardfitzsimmonsphillinda)



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Caning, M/M, and because they're two brutal men, and frank castle knows it, but like irresponsible shitty bdsm, i don't condone this in real life please know, i'm sorry i'm trash i know, i'm trash, is this fucked-up closeness with each other, that only happens because matt is a piece of shit and this is what he likes, they're trash, we're all trash, who don't know how to be human and the closest that they feel to being human
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-21
Updated: 2016-03-21
Packaged: 2018-05-28 01:35:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6309076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skyewardfitzsimmonsphillinda/pseuds/red
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"We had an agreement, Red." </p><p>Matt could hear his own heartbeat, thudding in his ears - but more than anything, he could hear Castle's heart, as loud as his sawed-off and as rapid as a moving bullet. "And what exactly," Matt began; his tone slow, measured, precise. "Are you planning to do about it?" </p><p>Something twisted across the other man's grizzled face; something that couldn't quite be called a smile. "You're the one with the sixth sense, Red. You tell me." </p><p>The words snaked down Matt's spine, ran over his skin like eagerness; like atonement. </p><p>"I expect..." Matt's throat was dry. "To be punished."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red

Matt Murdock knew what was coming.

 

He had worn red and chased after it every day for a week, but still, _still_ he was unprepared for it. It met him on the rooftop after he had fought his way through six Slavic gang members. 

 

“Red.”

 

“Frank.”

 

The man wasn’t carrying a rifle today—there was a glock on his thigh and a revolver in his boot and half a dozen blades, of course, but he was without the usual rifle. Still, everything Matt could feel about the man—the faint _ting_ of the hidden blades in every step he took, the way the wind itself stopped against the man’s thick frame, the heartbeat that said—

 

“We had an agreement, Red.”

 

Matt could hear his own heartbeat, thudding in his ears - but more than anything, he could hear Castle's heart, as loud as his sawed-off and as rapid as a moving bullet. “And what exactly,” Matt began; his tone slow, measured, precise. “Are you planning to do about it?”

 

Something twisted across the other man's grizzled face; something that couldn't quite be called a smile. “You're the one with the sixth sense, Red. You tell me.”

 

The words snaked down Matt's spine, ran over his skin like eagerness; like atonement.

 

“I expect...” Matt's throat was dry. “To be punished.”

 

“You’re goddamn right.” Frank’s voice was a snarl, and he moved—quietly, always so goddamn _quietly_ —but Matt felt him; felt the change in his breath and the proximity of the other man’s heartbeat and the blood racing racing _racing_ through his veins; racing towards a finish line Matt wasn’t sure he wanted to imagine.

 

A fraction of a moment later, Frank’s hands were on either shoulder, pinning him against the wall.

 

Matt’s reaction—always—was to fight, but…

 

Not today.

 

“Tell me you remember our agreement.” The snarl was gone; replaced by a frigidity Matt recognized.

 

The man’s breath was hot against Matt’s skin; so hot it almost singed him. Matt began to laugh, a sound that twisted and shattered the thin air between them. “As if it meant a damn thing.”

 

By the time the last words had left his mouth, Frank had lifted him and then slammed him down on the ground. A second later, the man was straddling Matt, his breath mingling with Matt’s. “It meant something to _me_.”

 

Oh, _god_.

 

“Then,” Matt rasped, his breath ragged. “Then _show me_. Show me what it meant to you.”

 

This was how it always went; the Daredevil and the Punisher bloodied themselves; bloodied Hell’s Kitchen week after week—and then, when it was all too much, Daredevil fucked with the Punisher and they ended up here.

 

And now Frank Castle is kissing Matt, but it’s not soft and sweet like Karen or gentle and eager like Foggy or even the same kind of intensity as Elektra. This is brutality; this is bloodletting. Matt’s teeth are sharp and Castle’s skin is not as thick as it looks, and in a moment their lips are both bleeding.

 

The blood ran down Matt’s chin, and the smell—salty, sharp, metallic—sends his pulse skyrocketing again.

 

Frank pressed him against the concrete rooftop and drew back. Matt could hear his lungs heaving, begging for oxygen; can feel his own breathless body trying to fill the same need. Frank’s jeans stretch tight over his waist, his hips, his thighs, and Matt was more desperate than he had been a moment ago.

 

He sat up—

 

And received a sharp blow to his face; a blow he did not block.

 

Blood trickled from his cheekbone, and he laughed again, a sound that could only be made by the devil himself.

 

“That all you got, Frank?”

 

“No, Red, I’m about to bend you over and shred your ass like a good Catholic martyr,” Frank growled the words into Matt’s ear, and his whole body shivered. “Can you lie there and take it?”

 

_Mother of—_

Frank’s hand was at his waist, pulling the suit off.

 

It takes far less time for Frank than it ever does for Matt, and in moments the Kevlar is discarded on the dark rooftop.

 

“Focus,” Frank commanded. “Focus on me. Nothing else. Not a single goddamn siren, understand?”

 

Matt shivered again, his skin tingling as he registers everything—cold breeze just kissing his skin, Frank’s rough fingers so _close_ , rain just beginning to mist down on them.

 

Hardened hands yanked him to his feet, dragged him to the edge of the roof.

 

Bent him over the thin guardrail.

 

Matt’s breath caught in his throat. “Frank”—

 

The man’s hand raised, trembled with the willpower it took to keep from striking Matt then, and then fell to his side.

 

Matt waited.

 

“Stay still.” It was a whisper; a whisper Matt clung to.

 

The _clink_ of Frank’s belt being removed sent all of Matt’s senses into overdrive, but when the cold metal touched his fingers as Frank wound it around Matt’s hands, he was not sure if he was disappointed—or more excited.

 

The man bound Matt’s hands and then looped them around the guard rail.

 

For a brief second, Frank pressed the weight of his body against Matt from behind—and even though the man was fully clothed, the weight of him was all it took for Matt to be overwhelmed.

 

“ _Do it_ ,” Matt threw the words at him through gritted teeth.

 

“ _Stay. Still._ ” Frank punctuated each word with a blow— _hard_ —to Matt’s ass. “I’ll take you slow if I want to take you slow, _Matthew_.”

 

The sound of his name in the other man’s mouth made him gasp aloud.

 

“Did I say you could make a sound, Red?”

 

“Did I say I was going to wait for your permission?”

 

The next blow that struck him was with something else—something that felt like a thin, sharp cane.

 

He missed Frank’s hand, but— _god_.

 

This was better than the Purgatory he had imagined for himself; better than the hell he knew he would see someday.

 

The cane tore through his skin—shoulders, back, ass, thighs, legs, and it was the pain; the pain and the _tang_ of blood in the air and the way that his own blood smelled on Frank Castle’s skin was everything.

 

“I can see the city from here,” Frank said, his voice all gravel, but soft. The cane _swished_ again, and Matt lurched at the blow; this one to his thighs.

 

He felt the blood trickle down his legs.

 

“Tell me what you see, Red.”

 

“I see”—Matt gasped as the cane clattered to the ground and Frank moved over his ravaged body, mounting him and making every wound on his body cry out. “I see the whole city; the city on fire. Bleeding and fucking and”—

 

“Screaming?” Frank suggested, one rough hand digging into Matt’s hair and yanking his head back. “Because I imagine they’re all about to hear yours.”


End file.
